Playing God
by GoldenEagle
Summary: The story of Dilandau and his serial killer... *sigh* Ahh, how touching!
1. Prologue

Playing God  
By GoldenEagle  
  
Prologue  
  
An explosion.  
  
There was no turning back now. Jason, screaming at me in horror, then yelling. Saying, "Siren, Siren, oh, holy shit! What were you thinking?! Fuck... Fuck... The police are coming. Siren, come on!" And when I wouldn't move, he left me. The person I had done this for left alone. I was left there, the metal cold in my hand, the blood pooling around me. With a slow realization, I had dropped the gun, shining in the moonlight which filtered through the window. No one was supposed to be home. We'd grab a few things to sell and then go.  
  
But someone had been home.  
  
Their body lay before me. I was numb, struck emotionless by this petty spectacle of death. I had taken someone's life. What was that called? Oh, yes. Murder. Me, I... I had become a murderer. I let my eyes float up as I heard the sirens wail, closer, closer, so close I could see the lights flashing through the windows. I should leave. I should run. I think they were surprised when they found me, my head tilted back, a horrible noise pushing through me. I think it shocked them even more when they realized what that sound was. I think I was surprised, too, as it spilt forth in wonderful, pleased, and satisfied tones from me.   
  
All I could do is laugh in giddy joy of what had just happened. I was playing God. Nothing felt more gratifying than doing so, seeing the blood spill out, crimson, beautiful. It scared me. Why was I acting this way? I was the goody-goody, the one who was always reluctant to do the whole robbery thing. And here I was, standing over a corpse, cackling my brains out. But surely... Surely no one understood more what it felt like to be God at that very moment than me. No one could ever understand this power. This horrible and terrible curse... blessing...?   
  
I was God. I was invincible.  
  
************  
  
The world in flames. Crimson, beautiful dancers, all there because I had called them to be so. Devouring human lives as I may devour breakfast, slowly picking a piece out, bringing it to my lips, chewing, slowly, enjoying the object deteriorate at my touch. I smile in glee as the fire does my bidding, entrapping the entire city, people crying out a death cry, the last noise they'll ever make. Death. How strange people fear it so. I think pushing it away does nothing but anger it, forcing it harder upon a person.  
  
Yet if you do as I do, embrace it wholly, it welcomes you. Does as you wish. Even worship you, I would dare say. I can't help but smile and laugh as I see the death around me, the burnt corpses laying before me, some still twitching quite beautifully. All of this, at my command. In all of Gaea, it is I who holds the most power. I must! Look, look at what surrounds me. All my doing, so many now dead. It makes me ecstatic, overjoyed. People think I'm insane, sadistical... But do people scorn those who stare at a painting for some time in a great hallway? What I do is merely the same. I have an appreciation for the arts of fate, especially in the dimension of death. People call me a murderer, a beast, evil... But I merely do the inevitable, taking a life. What does it matter if that man, that woman, that child, infant, dies today? They would have died later on, much later, having to go through a horrible, wretched thing known as life. No, I did them a favor, taking this position. Of course, no one could dare to understand. No one could comprehend my role.   
  
For I am God. I am untouchable.  
  
  
Author's Note: Yes, I know. Rather dark. I'm wholly devoted to my Leviathan's Daughter story right now, so I don't think I'll work as fully on this story. It just came to me, in fact. If you didn't understand, the first point of view was in Siren's perspective (a new charecter, obviously), and the second in Dillandau's. I might not even continue on this story. Depends on the reviews and inpirations. I just felt like doing a piece that looked into the minds of murderers, kind of. Plus, I'm planning on making it a twisted, Dilly romance. I thought I would make my own version. After all, who really thinks Dillandau's going to go for the sweet, innocent girls every time? He needs someone strong with which he can relate to. Anyways, that's all I have to say. The rest of the story will most likely be in third person, since first is fun but always seems to limited for me. Chow!  
  
  



	2. Chapter One: Playing Fate

Playing God  
By GoldenEagle  
  
Chapter One: Playing Fate  
  
Blood poured out, the ancient marble walls and floors and columns stained with the crimson flood. A battle of great proportions had taken place here, not long ago. The hallways were still warm, there could even be heard the slightest movement as soldiers of both armies moved, in desperate search of someone to be with them as they died, whether friend or adversary. Yet all that was left was the remains, the people dead and dying, and their country, their army, had abandoned them, to die, as everyone must in the end.  
  
Yet, among those who reached out for some sort of comfort in their last moments, lay one silent figure, blood poring from a deep gash in the soldier's stomach. Dillandau Albatou, the greatest warrior in all the Zaibach army, lay, torn and dying, on the stones of an alter to some god of forgotten past. After being forced out of his Guymelef, the boy, for truly he was only but of fifteen years of age, had been forced into the real, actual battle. It was not a rare occurrence, but this time he had been struck down. As he stared up at the darkening, smoke filled sky, he smiled slightly, feeling his body give way to the death that pushed upon him.  
  
The battle he had just fallen at was set in the rubbles of an ancient city, a race having once dwelled there. The Druids, as they were called, the ones that worshipped nature and believed, at times in the earth's cycle, that the gateway to different worlds thinned. That, if you had the right elements in place, you could push through this veil and enter into other worlds. Dillandau found the religion foolish, nothing to be pondered on long. Yet here he lay, his blood seeping onto an ancient altar. His blood was not the only human blood that the place of sacrifice had drank in all its years of existence.  
  
Unlike the other's around him dying, Dillandau was calm. He did not fear death, he did not feel a bond to life. He would regret nothing of his life, since there was nothing he held dear to him. He smiled up grimly as the mystic moon and her companion hung overhead, shining down on his blood, making it look thick and slick like paint. And, although he held no regrets, the tiniest recess of his soul spoke out, a strange wish issuing from his being.  
  
'A part of me wished I had a second chance... A part of me wished there was something in this life I had cared for...'  
  
The sacred altar with which he lay upon devoured his blood, then drank in his wish, considering it as all powers, all fates do. And, as if deeming this sacrifice of human blood worthy, the spiritual world which surrounded it glowed to life. Dillandau Albatou felt the power building around him, but for what reason, he had no idea. A white beam of light surrounded him and he wondered, momentarily, if this was what it was to die. He would have completely believed the hypothesis if it weren't for the stabbing pain that came with the slightest shift of his body as this energy, this power, lifted him up. He let out a trembling gasp as he felt the light consume him, and then he felt as if he were falling, falling, falling until he hit a hard, stone cold surface.  
  
***********  
  
The ER of the small, north Californian hospital was alive and busy, nurses rushing about as more and more people were pulled in. It was two nights before Halloween night, a night that was used to seeing that the hospitals would receive quite a few patients. But tonight was much different. Two days before, a massive earthquake had hit different portions of the Californian coast. People were still being pulled out of fallen buildings, and St. Mary's Hospital, though small it was, had received an overflow of patients which the larger hospitals had not been able to support. So it could almost go unsaid that not many would be out trick or treating that upcoming Halloween.  
  
"What have we got now, Jim?" Katricia asked as he wheeled in another patient. She glanced down at the boy and her brow furrowed at the odd paleness of his appearance.  
  
"Looks like some cult activity. Unidentified male, between the age of fourteen and sixteen, found on the West Heights. Some sort of Satanic or Druid markings found around the scene. Deep puncture wound which spreads across his entire abdomen. He's lost a lot of blood." The other man replied professionally, telling of the situation.  
  
"What is up with the armor?" The woman asked as they pushed the stretcher further in. All the rooms in the Emergency Room were filled, and so they had people lined in the hallways.  
  
The other man the nurse had been talking to smiled up wryly at her. "You should have seen the sword..."  
  
"The what?!"  
  
The man shrugged at the woman's doubtful outburst. "It's beyond me. Most likely he's some Satanist, having a little fun or something according to some drawn out Halloween deal. Maybe his buds ganged up on him. I have no idea. All I know is he needs to be treated quickly."  
  
No other nurses had come to the two people taking care of the boy, but that was to be expected. Katricia, for that was her name, as mentioned above, prepared an IV for the teen in silence, but it was her companion, Jim as he has been called, that broke the silence. "A lot of freaky shit happening here, Kat. Especially in the big cities. We have riots, aftershocks, prison breaks..."  
  
Kat shuttered as she continued caring for her patient. "You've heard of her-"  
  
"What? 'Iliad's Siren'? Everyone has, Kat." The man answered grimly.  
  
"I just don't understand how a kid could become a serial killer-"  
  
"This is not the place to talk about this right now." Jim growled. "There are enough grim topics on the list at the moment, we don't need more talk about some crazed psychopath, okay? You don't speak of death in a place where everyone is trying to fight it..." Katricia shut her mouth tightly and continued on with her work, pushing away all thoughts of the girl that made front page for the last two days with tales of murder and blood.  
  
**********  
  
A pair of grey eyes flickered open, but the only sight the figure took in was that of the white and bland ceiling above. Pain and weariness seemed to cascade through the boy's body, and e wondered with a dull metal inquisition where he was. Dillandau, for that is who it obviously was, reached his heavy hands up, feeling his body in all the places where pain seemed to recede. His hands crossed his abdomen and he flinched momentarily as his fingers traveled delicately over the stitches.  
  
Then one of his hands reached to the opposite wrist, and he frowned and gritted his teeth as he pulled the tube from his arm, the IV causing a slight pain. He sat up, unnoticed by the still rushing nurses and doctors busy about him, taking care of more wounded victims of the earlier earthquake. Though he did not know it, the sun was rising slowly yet steadily across the scene outside these walls.   
  
Dillandau Albatou was wide eyed as he watched all the noise and chaos around him. He slipped out of his hospital bed quietly, no one taking notice as he moved forward, weakly, in the direction that he felt led to an exit. His instinct was true. He reached the front doors within minutes and, among all the turmoil around him, slipped outside, barefoot, into the awakening day. He remained in most of his armor, except for that down his arms, but his sword was gone. He scowled at this discovery. The nurses and paramedics had been much too busy to undress the boy and redress him in the usual hospital gowns. If he would have known the ways of this strange place, he would have been thankful for that fact.  
  
Strangely, the oddly dressed boy, with pale skin and silver hair, went unnoticed by the world around him. People were still panicked from the earthquake, searching for lost family members and bodies among the wreckage. And, unknown to the lost soldier, an aftershock had hit that early morning, leaving even more chaos in its wake.  
  
After what could have been an hour of walking, Dillandau found himself on an almost empty road, reaching the city limits. Houses were scattered far apart, and he was surrounded by green grass and wire fences. He sighed, exhausted. "Where the hell am I?" He muttered up to the sky, as if it would answer him. Finally giving up, he walked off the side of the road and propped himself up against the trunk of a tree. 'I'll just... rest... a while...' He thought slowly before his eyelids drooped and he fell asleep among green grass, flowers, and a view of the torn and burning city below.  
  



	3. Chapter Two: Playing the Victim

Playing God  
By GoldenEagle  
  
Chapter Two: Playing the Victim  
  
The sky was darkening to a deep grey when Dillandau was awaken by the sound of tires skidding to a halt on the asphalt in front of him. He blinked, slowly, at the strange metal contraption before jumping up, his hand reaching for his sword, only to find an empty scabbard. He cursed himself quietly as a tall man stepped out of the contraption. He wore a blue uniform with some sort of badge on the side.  
  
"Hey, son, are you all right? Just come with me. I'll get you somewhere safe. Find your parents, perhaps?" The silver haired boy cocked his head to the side at the strange language. He couldn't make out a word that the man said. The policeman stepped forward, his voice soft, as if talking to a child. But, as we all know, Dillandau is anything but a child...  
  
The teenager rushed forward suddenly, knocking into the officer as he passed. The man stumbled before giving chase after the "runaway". If it wasn't for the wound in Dillandau's side, he would have easily outrun the cop. But as he moved, the wound started bleeding. The older man lunged forward and knocked Dillandau to the ground, causing some of the stitches to rip loose in Dillandau's abdomen. He grimaced as he felt his arms yanked violently behind him and cold metal bands wrap around his wrists. His eyes had turned that dangerous, garnet color as he looked over his shoulder at the man on his back.  
  
"Sorry for doing that, boy. We'll get you back to the city and find your parents-" The officer stopped speaking abruptly after lifting the boy out and finding a steady stream of blood flowing from the teen's stomach. "Shit. I better get you to a hospital." Right about then, the sound of tires squealing on pavement distracted the two. A car swerved violently over the road before coming to a direct stop before them. "Get in the car." The officer muttered as he eyed the car suspiciously. When the boy didn't make a move, which was due to the fact that he couldn't understand a word the older man had just said, the cop opened the front door to his car and shoved him in, too distracted to bother with shoving him in the back seat.  
  
And then, through the new darkness that had formed over the Californian scene, a loud explosion made Dillandau flinch slightly and unexpectedly. Though he did not recognize the noise, the officer did.   
  
Gunshot.  
  
************  
  
Moments before...  
  
************  
  
The red, badly running Ford Probe came to a stop at the side of the road. The driver, her mousy brown hair up, her mocha eyes shining, looked over to the side before speaking. "Hey, kid, you need a ride?" She asked.  
  
The girl huddled at the side of the road looked up, tears falling down her pale face. Blonde and silver strands of hair hung around her head and the driver could see she had been crying for quite some time. The small girl hesitated momentarily before standing slowly, a pack at her side. She was shaking and the driver was surprised to find that she was no child at all, but a tall, leggy teenager. "I'm... I'm lost." She said in a genuinely pitiful voice.   
  
"Hop in the car. If you have to, you can crash at my place tonight." The woman said, a warm smile flitting across her face. The younger girl only nodded silently as she moved to the other side of the car and opened the door before sitting down beside her, the torn bag in her hands. She fidgeted nervously before finally settling down. "So, what's your name?" The other woman asked.   
  
"Paris. Paris Willis, ma'm. But all my friends call me Siren. You know, after the Greek myth and everything. They say it suits me better than Paris..." The girl answered in a small, timid voice.  
  
A small frown flashed across the older woman's face. Siren... For some reason, that made an alarm go off in her head, but since she couldn't figure out why, she ignored it. "I'm Elizabeth. And that," She jerked her head to the side, indicating the back seat. "That is my friend. I don't have a name for him yet. Maybe you could help me with that." She said, giving a big, toothy smile.  
  
The girl turned her head back and saw a large cage in the back seat. In the depths of the cage slept a small, fluffy fur-ball. "It's a pygmy marmoset." She muttered. As if hearing her, the small primate looked up at her with big, blinking eyes. "Why do you have one of them? I thought they were endangered." She said, suddenly and oddly talkative and active.  
  
"I'm a zoologist. I work for one of the local zoos. We're bringing this little fella to a holding area closer to the coast. After the earthquake, his place was badly damaged. We'll bring him back after repairs are made. I see you have little knowledge on primates, too." The teen only nodded dully. "So, where do you need to get to?" She asked.  
  
"Malibu." The other replied calmly.  
  
"Well, I'm not heading there, but, maybe I can-" She stopped abruptly as she felt something hard being pressed into her side. Her eyes flew to the seat beside her and they went wide as she saw the girl holding the gun against her, tear stains still evident on her now insanely smirking face. A cold look flashed through her eyes.  
  
"You'll bring me where I want to go, or die." She said, as if it was a well known fact. The woman bit her lip as a tear escaped her eye. She nodded, her body stiff.  
  
After a few minutes of driving, the woman could make out a car on the side of the road. A police car. Her hopes rose and she suddenly sped up, swerving about the road. "Don't you even..." The girl hissed, but as the car careened to a stop, she was flung forward a bit, her forehead hitting the widow, cracking it. She growled out in pain as she held her bleeding head.  
  
"Please, someone, someone help me!" The woman screamed as she started to open the car door. Siren raised the gun up.  
  
"Wrong move, bitch." She hissed. A shot rang through the darkness and the older woman sunk into her seat, blood running in floods from the bullet hole in her temple. A bit of the crimson flow splashed across the teen's face as the bullet entered, but it was ignored. Siren looked up as the policeman edged closer. She calmly pulled out a tube of black, smooth lipstick from her bag before applying it to her lips. After a swift smack, she leaned over and kissed the corpse laying next to her on the cheek. A black outline of lips was left on the paling skin. Siren smiled, pleased. It was her mark. It was how the authorities knew she had struck. The press put it quite nicely as the "kiss of death".  
  
"Get out of the car with your hands above your head!" The man in uniform screamed at her. She smirked before turning around, opening the cage to the small primate. It jumped out before landing on her shoulders and curling its long tail around her neck. She smiled at its warmth. She then opened the door slowly to the car and stepped out, her hands up, a grin flashing across her face. The officer took in her bloodied face slowly before recognizing it as the one he had seen photographed on several wanted posters. "PUT YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOU BACK!" He screamed. The only reply he got was her black lips turning upward even more. He saw her gaze flash back momentarily before she jumped to the side. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE-" But the man was interupted as he was hit by a fast moving body of metal.  
  
While all this had been happening, Dillandau had watched, in growing admiration, of the lavender eyed girl before him. Her gaze shone red, a blood lust in them, as the car lights hit them. He looked around momentarily. He noticed two petals at the floor on the other side and he was slightly reminded of his own guymelef. He inched forward on his seat before bringing his legs over and pushing his foot down on one of the petals. The car roared to life, sprinting forward.  
  
There was little time to react as the policeman was hit, the glass cracking and falling in on the boy's form. Then, almost as quickly, it hit the other vehicle, pushing both off the road. Dillandau moaned momentarily, the pain in his abdomen flaring to life with the jerking movements. But he was interupted by cold metal against his temple. His eyes flew open. The girl stood there, the driver's door open, holding some sort of weapon to his head. He didn't move as she looked at him. She spoke, but he didn't understand a word she said.  
  
"You're a fucking moron, you know that? Now we're stuck, in the middle of nowhere, with no fucking transportation!" Her eyes flared but died down, looking him deeper in the eye. She drew closer, inches from his face, looking him deep into his gaze, analyzing him. Dillandau was momentarily reminded of the dragons of Gaea, their eyes flaming, their breath hot, the blood and flesh of their kill still in-between their teeth, in-between their scales... Beautiful. They- No, she was a beautiful predator. The small monkey jumped onto her shoulders and glared down at the boy, mimicking its new master. She raised her eyebrows in sudden admiration, a cold smile flitting across her face. "You have death in your eyes, boy. Maybe you'll be of some use."  
  
He flinched as he felt the cold metal move to his back, but relaxed when he felt the metal loosen around his wrists and he was suddenly free. He brought his hands forward, rubbing his wrists gingerly. He couldn't take his eyes off of her, though. After a few minutes of staring she gave him an odd look. "You need to stop staring at me, boy."  
  
"What?" He asked in his own language. "I don't think I speak-"  
  
"Fuck." She said. He was recognized the word from before. "He's a fucking foreigner!" She hissed as she withdrew from the police car, Dillandau following her slowly, grimacing at the pain that roared through him from his stomach. She looked at him oddly. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Dillandau looked at her oddly, recognizing the tone as a question. He spoke the only word he knew of this strange language, more to himself than in reply.  
  
"Fuck."  
  
A splitting laugh broke him from his thoughtfulness. She looked up at him, a strange warmth in her eyes that didn't go with the blood on her face. "I better watch what I say around you, you moron." She said, laughing through the entire sentence.  
  



	4. Chapter Three: Playing the Tag-along

Playing God  
By GoldenEagle  
  
Chapter Three: Playing the Tag-along  
  
"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Siren had been distracted, and when she turned she had found that the boy was disappearing into the forests that lined the road. He seemed to tear through them with some unknown vigor. The girl had been admiring the chaos she had caused in meditation, as one may observe a sunset or a masterpiece painting. Now she was running after the boy, trying to keep up. "You won't get anywhere through there! It's only wilderness. Ah, you moron." She muttered, wondering why she was even following the teen, pushing deeper and deeper into the woods.  
  
She chanced a glance back and snapped her fingers, a smile on her face. The small primate that had been scampering after her rushed forward with a new speed and leapt easily to her shoulders, wrapping around her neck. She was rather content with her new friend, and rather annoyed with the other new acquaintance. She turned her head back around, still trudging forward, but her head hit painfully with another hard object. She stumbled back and hissed out before looking up. The boy was holding his head, just as she was, and glaring up at her, an extremely annoyed and peeved look on his face. "Hey, watch it!" He snapped out after a few more moments of head holding. Though she could not understand the words, she knew well enough what he said.  
  
"If you weren't trudging through a wilderness like a freaking idiot..." She knew better than to use the "f-word" again, seeing as how he reacted like a toddler by picking up the familiar term. And yet, why *was* she following him through the middle of nowhere? Surely the boy could fend for himself, and if he couldn't, it would mean nothing to her. Still, there was something about him... A wild, sadistical air, a promise of adventure, danger, maybe even death if you interacted with him too much... It was too much for the murderer to resist.  
  
Dillandau's gaze flickered from the girl's face to the creature on her shoulders, which screeched at him from that stronghold, complaining about the small head "wreck". He scowled. "Why are you bringing that... thing? Why *are* you even coming?" He growled, looking her in the eye, momentarily forgetting that she couldn't understand a word he said. Though he uttered the words, he personally felt a link with her, however weak or sudden it may have been. She was too entrancing, to beautiful a prize, to depart with without any feelings of regret.  
  
Siren was starting to get the gist of the whole "foreign" thing and was interpreting his body language quite well. "Hey, the monkey goes where I go." She paused, contemplating something for a second. "Yes... Umm... Shit, I never had a pet." She said, annoyed with herself. Finally, she snapped her fingers in the completion of the thought process. "George! George here, is mine, and goes where I go. You know, like Curious George." She said brightly before snapping out of her momentarily childish contemplation. The boy stared at her oddly before shaking his head and turning once more. She frowned. He seemed paler now, even though they were in the shadows. "Hey, where are you going?" She asked, although she knew well enough that, even if he did know what she was saying, he wouldn't have been able to answer her in any language she would know.  
  
There was another reason why he wouldn't have been able to answer her if he had understood the question, and that was because he truly didn't know where he was going, either. All he felt was this urgent, tugging instinct, that grew stronger and stronger as the moon rose steadily higher on that cold, Halloween night. He could feel the energy draining from him with each drop of blood being lost in a constant stream down his side. He could also feel the coldness seeping into him, embracing his innards, his organs and bones. It leaked through that hole in his abdomen, like some sort of gas through the crack of a door, filling him with its freezing torrent. He took this in dully as he pushed forward, the girl behind him moaning and groaning. He imagined she was complaining (more like whining) about the branches that he pushed through that would snap back in place, most likely into her face. She was noticeably shorter than him and he found it strange that such a small, skinny, pale thing could be something so utterly... Utterly... *him*. It made Dillandau admire her more, worship her more, and in a sense, spurred on a small obsession of this girl in his mind. He was torn from his thoughts as he stumbled into a clearing, collapsing to the ground in unrealized exhaustion.  
  
Siren stood behind him, looking at the scene with a strange, respective awe. The very clearing emanated power of a sacred nature, and she could see symbols burnt into the ground, three points, and lines of ash to outline the triangle. There was also blood. Not stains, but dried, on the cold, giant white rock. The primate on her shoulder became skittish. It paced on her shoulders before climbing to her head, chattering, then disappearing into her shirt, a bulge of fabric in constant motion before settling, hiding at her stomach. She looked to the kneeling form of the boy, a tight grimace across his face. For the first time she noticed his wounds, old and new. That strange scar across his cheek, several down his bare arms, and then the bleeding tear that she knew must be producing so much blood from his abdomen. He held it, gritting his teeth, before raising, slowly.  
  
Though he was not conscious when he had been in the clearing last, he did recognize it. It was the place that he had first touched down on. The place where he had first felt the Mystic Moon against him. As he felt his body crash into the cold rock. He stumbled forward, pushing... As long as he could... Could make it... He fell forward heavily, his stomach stretching, more stitches tearing. He held it in fear that it would be more than just blood that would be lost, feeling his insides pushing to reach the night air. He looked down, gasping shallowly, a strange, numb realization and acceptance pushing past him as he saw torrents of blood stain the white stone below him crimson. He felt death taking hold of him once more, and he didn't have the strength to fight, nor the fear of death to push on that will to fight. Through the pool of blood collecting around him, he could see that he was in the middle of that triangle, those strange symbols seeming to glow at the taste of his blood. He remembered that liquid spilling onto the altar on Gaea, and him suddenly being here. Perhaps... Perhaps this would bring him back home... If there was such a place for a person like Dillandau.  
  
Then he felt that strange light touch down on him, tickle his skin, blind his senses. And then came a different touch, hesitant yet decided. He opened his eyes and looked up as that strange girl forced him to his feet. He looked at her with questioning and grudgeful eyes. Could she not leave him in peace? Even as he thought this, he could feel the strange light around them gaining strength, tugging at him slightly.  
  
"What the hell is this?" Siren muttered as she pulled her shirt off with one quick movement. George shrieked at being unveiled before scrambling up and wrapping himself around her neck once more. She noticed the boy's eyes on her, confused, dazed. "This isn't a strip show." She hissed as she moved forward, forcing his hand away from his stomach before pulling off his own shirt with a little more effort. She then proceeded by wrapping the shirt around the wound, forcing it shut, the material absorbing the blood. Though she said the words menacingly, she knew well enough that his thoughts were not in the least bit out of line, for she knew that his thoughts must be few and dim. She knew the look in his eyes, just as the Grim Reaper knows his victims by that look. It's a look of hopelessness, of dull acceptance. It was the look of death, a thing Siren had seen much of. Something she had relished in. But now, as she looked at his failing form, some power in that consuming light literally lifting her feet off the ground, she felt no joy. A bit of... regret, maybe. He was such a beautiful, entrancing vision, a vision of everything she lived for. Death, strength, pride...  
  
As they were lifted faster into the air, George screaming (or perhaps it was her?), she noticed the boy's for slip unconscious. She drew him to her, holding him against her, his head limp on her shoulder, the skin of her stomach touching that of the cloth wrapped around his wound. She closed her eyes as she felt as if she were disolving and then reforming. Then falling, falling. This time she knew she had let a cry out, and then her back hit the edge of stone, the boy's weight pressing down on her as she faded away into her own darkness.  
  



	5. Chapter Four: Playing Nurse

Playing God  
By GoldenEagle  
  
Chapter Four: Playing Nurse  
  
All was silent, no breeze to carry away the stench of death, no breath to be heard. That is, except for over a stone altar, where two forms lay, unconscious. And then, among the stillness of the scene, there could be seen movement, and there could be heard a groan.  
  
Siren shifted, her eyes closed, her back racing with pain. She tried to move, but couldn't, feeling as if a heavy weight had been distributed over her entire body. She opened her eyes suddenly, afraid that maybe the fall had rendered her paralyzed, but froze. The boy, the strange one, with silver hair and pale skin, lay on top of her, weighing her down. With a bit of effort, she pushed him off. She hissed as her back shot with pain, and she lay there, a few more moments, before she decided to move. She took in a deep breath as she took in the scene around her.  
  
About the altar, hundreds, no, surely *thousands*, of corpses lay scattered about. The battle must have passed a while back, because the smell of rotting flesh could already be detected, and not a soul was left on the field. Siren jumped as she heard a low moan next to her. She turned to look down at the boy, who was now on his back. Her shirt wrapped around his wound had long been soaked in the blood. She contemplated her choices for a moment. Obviously, she wasn't in California anymore. And yet, was there anywhere that she knew of that was going through a war that left so many behind? She glanced up to calm her thoughts, but her thoughts went astray instead as she saw two moons in the sky, one looking strangely like earth...  
  
"So, I'm on a different planet. That's not too weird." She muttered before looking back down to the unconscious form of the boy next to her. 'He'll only get in the way,' she thought. 'I should just leave him here.' But, instead, she let out a heavy sigh before attempting to pick the boy up. She only succeeded in dragging him off of the ledge of the altar. She winced as she heard his head hit the stone below with a loud crack, but continued dragging him, slowly, into the forest. At the edge of the clearing, she let him go and ran back to where they had been, wincing at the pain in her back. She picked up her bag and jumped a little as a small, curious head poked out.  
  
"George." She muttered as the primate chattered and ran up her arm and back around her neck, squealing in complaint at the bad smelling scenery.  
  
***************  
  
Dillandau moaned, opening his eyes. It felt as if fire was coursing through his veins, and he felt so weak that he could hardly move. There was a strange knot on the back of his head, one he hadn't remembered getting. He dully brought his hand to his stomach, where he found the wound that had almost killed him, twice, sown up with a soft, weak thread. He turned his head to the side.   
  
He was surrounded by large, thick trees and soft grass. He could hear the sound of running water, maybe even a waterfall. He lay there a few more minutes before pushing himself up weakly and then standing, the world spinning around him. He blinked slowly a few times before gripping the trees as he started to walk to where he heard the running water. The first rays of dawn were poking their head up over the horizon as he came to the river, or creek, for it wasn't that large. Yet, as he took the scene in more fully, he froze. In the middle of the running water, only waste deep in the water, stood the girl, her body shining in the early morning light, making her skin glow, accenting her curves, her bare, round breasts-  
  
Dillandau found he had stopped breathing and so he hissed in a breath. The slight noise caught the ears of the girl below and she looked up at him, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she had no clothes on. The fever and shocking scene caused the boy's head to spin and he sat down promptly, leaning a burning cheek against the tree he had been leaning on. Surely... Surely the girl would dress and then apologize-  
  
Dillandau's breath caught in his chest and his eyes widened as she approached him, the water streaming down her bare skin, her silvery blonde hair clinging to her face. He closed his eyes. "Gods, you are such a sexy bitch, you know that?" He hissed out, fully aware that she couldn't understand him. He opened his eyes slowly, only to find an eyebrow cocked and recognition in her eyes. Recognition... of... what he had just... Holy shit...  
  
She knelt down in front of his sitting form. "I'd watch what you say, child. I'm very, *very* off limits, got it?" He looked at her with wide, confused eyes. The fever in his veins wasn't helping him think.  
  
"You-you... can... understand me?" He stuttered, his tongue thick in his own mouth, his thoughts flitting away from him, being enveloped by the heat that was radiating throughout his body from the wound.  
  
She hesitated before answering. "I guess so. I didn't earlier, but... I guess whatever magic brought us here did this, too." She muttered. Dillandau flinched as she drew closer to him, reaching past him. He clenched his eyes closed. The boy's reaction was met with mocking laughter. His eyes snapped open pridefully. "You're sitting on my clothes, child." She said, a smirk on her face. It took a few moments before her words soaked in. He stumbled to the side before sitting down again.  
  
After a few more moments of him trying to ignore the girl dressing next to him and him trying to take control of his fevered body, he just lay down, the sun shining brightly over him. "So... Who are you?" He heard a feminine voice ask brightly beside him. He turned his head to the side and looked at her, only a few inches away, her head propped up by her arm as she lay on her side. She was wearing almost all the same clothes she had been wearing when he had first seen her. Blood was still smeared across her genes. Though still slightly unnerving, he was relieved that she had donned a small top, though only a bra, for her shirt had been used to hold close his wound.  
  
"I am Lord Dillandau Albatou, leader of the Dragon Slayers, warrior of the Zaibach empire." He said. The words were slurred yet still held tones of pride, giving his introduction a comical tone.  
  
"And I'm Siren. I mean," She deepened her voice slightly, mocking his pride, "I am Lady Siren, role model to all aspiring serial killers, the most largely sought out murderer on the West coast of America." She laughed. Her laughter disgruntled Dillandau, for it held an undertone that lacked sanity. A few minutes of uncomfortable silence ensued.  
  
"Ugh." Dillandau moaned, leaning his head up and fidgeting as a sharp pain raced from his stomach throughout his entire body. He put his hand to the wound, feeling the small stitches there, before opening his eyes a slit, the sky above still clouded with smoke from the battlefield he had almost died on. Now that he had thought of it, he could smell a certain unpleasant smell in the air, like rancid meat.   
  
"You... closed my wound?" He asked.  
  
"Yes. I took Home Ec. before... Well, I used to take it. I never go anywhere without needle and thread now, though I doubt that the string I used will do much good for very long."  
  
Another awkward paused passed. He was distracted from his thoughts as the tips of four hesitant fingers touched his forehead.   
  
"You're burning up." Siren stated plainly. "Help me." She muttered.  
  
"With what?!" He snapped, an odd clarity coming over him suddenly. "I'm dying, for the gods' sakes! And you, asking for favors-"  
  
"I need you to help me get you up, you moron!" She snapped back just as testily before pulling him up.   
  
"Oh." He said through a grimace as she pulled him to his feet. He leaned heavily on her, his face down. His cheeks grew even more red as he was faced with her cleavage, a perfect view from where he was. He licked his lips nervously as he noticed her knowing stare on him.   
  
"So," she said as the approached the edge of the water and then stepped in, the cold stream brushing across Dillandau's bare feet. She was helping him lay down on the bank, his head the only thing on shore, before she finished her sentence. "You're a virgin."  
  
The statement pulled Dillandau's pleasant thoughts of the cool water on his fevered body away. He looked up, surprised, only to be met by a smirking face. "I am not!" He hissed.   
  
"Yes, you are. Don't try to lie to me. I can tell." Her voice was a warning that she did not put up with dishonesty from other's she found below herself.  
  
He growled out, half in momentary pain as the cold water bit into his wound and half in bruised pride. "I'm a great soldier in the Zaibach army in times of war. I have no time for such things."  
  
"And I assume you don't have very many girl's around, huh?"   
  
He didn't answer because a small, moving fur-ball had attacked his face, scampering on top of his cheeks and nose and mouth, leaning over and sniffing, placing incredibly small hands forward, gripping the warrior's nose and nasal passages as it pushed forward to stare and chatter at the two wide, horrified, and grey eyes of its victim.  
  
"Get it off! Get it-" Dillandau coughed and spit as he got the creature's fur in his mouth. With a last effort of strength he reached up and tossed the creature from his face. It screeched and ran to its owner, Siren, crawling up around her shoulders before chattering down angrily at the mean boy below him. "Gods, can't you get rid of that damn fur-ball?! I'll kill it myself if I have to and eat its brains for a snack-" His breathing had grown quicker, more shallow.  
  
Siren frowned down at his being so rude to her pet. "It's George." She paused as she noticed how pale the boy was as he opened his mouth to rant some more. "Calm down. God damn it, I said calm the fuck down!" She growled, covering his cold lips with her fingers. He stared up at her, wheezing in, his eyes garnet in rage at her words. "You're temper is going to kill you." She said through a clenched jaw.  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?" He growled through trembling lips, still overpowered with rage. No sooner had the words left his lips that a terrible fit of coughing push through him, horrible, and he turned his head to the side. Blood flowed from his mouth momentarily and he was suddenly dizzy.  
  
"You're over exciting yourself. I'll go out to look for someone to take care of you, maybe even find someone working for this 'Zaibach' of yours. Just relax." She said coldly, as if speaking to an annoying dog that won't quit licking itself in front of guests. He closed his eyes before darkness welcomed him into a dreamless sleep.  
  
  



	6. Chapter Five: Playing Mad

Playing God  
By GoldenEagle  
  
Chapter Five: Playing Mad  
  
Dillandau awoke to the bumping and swaying of the world around him. The disorientation caused by this movement was only added to by the darkness that was shrouded around him. He moaned before moving about him, the slash in his stomach tightly closed but still painful. He went about groping for anything that might make him more familiar with his surroundings. His hand came into contact with something wooden. He moved on. His hand then came into contact with a cold object, drenched in a cold, sticky liquid. He searched forward, trying to figure out what was before him when a hand clamped down around his mouth, pulling him back. He kicked out, struggling, but he was still slightly weak from the wound, and taken by surprise. On instinct, he bit down into the person's hand. A hiss was heard near his ear before his head was yanked to the side, a pain flashing down his neck at the movement.  
  
"God damn it, you little brat! Quit moving around, you little bastard, and if you bite me one more time I'll slit your throat so quick you won't even be able to cry out!" Despite the dark threat, Dillandau calmed at the voice, recognizing the hateful female behind it. He merely nodded and she let loose of him. He immediately pulled away, the pain in his neck enraging him.  
  
"What the hell was that for?!" He snarled.  
  
"Watch your voice, boy. We may not be well accepted by those who surround us." She muttered in the dark, sounding slightly distracted as she listened for any sign that they had been found out. There was a moment of pause as Dillandau still shuffled back, the confusion of their dark scene still getting to him. "Oh, and, Dillandau, was it? Watch your step."  
  
As if on cue, he tripped over something and fell down. He growled out as he realized it was on the previous object he had touched before Siren had taken him by surprise. A match flared next to his ear, giving light momentarily to the scene. As soon as Dillandau saw what he was laying on, he jerked back, taken by surprise.  
  
Two misted over eyes met his, lifeless. Pale, wrinkled skin, mouth agape, and across the throat a deep gash that had long stopped bleeding, the blood sticking to almost every inch of the person's skin. And, on the far right cheek, was the black outline of lips. As the light in the match went out, Siren began to speak.  
  
"We're traveling with a caravan that passed by the creek not too long after you went out. They don't know we're still here, but it was their doctor that sewed you up."  
  
"That man..." Dillandau whispered, drawing away from where he remembered the body was lying in the darkness.  
  
He could almost feel her shrug in the sightless darkness. "He wanted my monkey as payment." There was a level of pride in her voice, a pride of her kill that even sickened Dillandau slightly. His Dragon Slayers were not even as obsessed as this. Perhaps he was, in the midst of battle, but only then. Only when his insanity was strongest. She sighed, obviously annoyed that he wasn't sharing in her joy of the murder. "I heard them speak of Zaibach. I think they're going there to trade. If I heard right, we should be there by dawn."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
It was the light that awoke Dillandau. The two of them had found their way to a pile of blankets that were, thank the gods, far from the stenching corpse. The disorientation of first wakefulness filled him and prevented him from first realizing why he felt so warm. Yet, as the light continued to pester his sleep-sensitive eyes, he took hold of his current position completely. Something warm and breathing and utterly female was pressed against his chest. He blinked once, twice, as he took Siren's sleeping form in, pressed tightly on him. There was a few seconds of pause before his confusion and pride erupted. "What the hell are you doing?!" He yelped as he pushed her away. She awoke in a flash, realizing where she had just been. She stumbled to her feet, her eyes confused as she tried to figure everything out for herself. Dillandau was more afraid of his image than anything. What if someone had walked in and found them that way? His Dragon Slayers would look at him with a smirk in their eyes for months!   
  
Siren's voice surprised him with it's smallness and childlike quality as she spoke in a confused whisper. "Where... I-I'm sorry. I used to always sleep in my mom's room... I'm used to-" Suddenly, her vulnerability faded and the sharp coldness entered her eyes. The remembered innocence was lost and replaced with freezing precision. She met his eyes fully, the tears of her earlier recall still in them, giving her a glassy look. A snarl suddenly crossed her face. "What do you mean what am I doing? What were YOU doing?!" Her hand flashed forward, her palm connecting sharply with his face. Dillandau was taken by surprise for a moment, taken unaware because no one, much less a woman, had ever struck him in that fashion before.  
  
In the seconds that passed, his head slightly bowed, his pale cheek pink, the rage slowly built itself up. In a sharp, girlish scream, Dillandau retaliated and hit her with the backside of his hand, with much more force and harshness. She stumbled, falling to one knee and holding herself there, breathing deeply, trying to regain her wits as her head spun. The Zaibach general felt rather proud of himself as he stood above her smugly, but he did not expect her next move. She sprang forward, a scream of utter rage roaring from her, thoughts of keeping their location a secret totally forgotten.  
  
She hit him broadly in the chest with such force that he fell back and they both skidded several feet to the edge of the opening to the back of the wagon. The pain that rushed through Dillandau from his stomach was completely forgotten as he tried to hold her hand away from him. That hand held a sharp, curved knife, still stained with blood from earlier kills. There was a primal insanity in her eyes as she stared down at him and he realized with a quickly dispersed fear that she meant to kill him. But he had gone against entire armies, killing trained soldiers by the dozen. He could handle this girl. Or so he told himself. Yet, as he should know full well, insanity makes a person's strength increase ten fold.  
  
The blade inched closer to his face and he gritted his teeth and started to push it away, yet a sharp kneeing to his groin cause his hand to slip away and his complexion to pale. The blade slipped forward and bit into the wood below his head. The wagon bounced over a hole in the road and Dillandau felt himself sliding back slowly, the girl sitting on his hips coming with him. He suddenly felt himself falling and he hit the ground harshly, pain issuing crossing his entire being. He opened his eyes to see Siren's hand back, the knife flashing forward, but the movement was interupted as a black leathered hand gripped her wrist. She screamed out like an animal as her victory was evaded.  
  
Two strong arms pulled her off of him, just as two more pulled him up from the muddied streets of a Zaibach outpost. "General Dillandau!" One of the men yelped as he stood at attention. The other three soldiers followed suite, one still holding an enraged blonde girl in his hands. She writhed and tried to bite into his leathered hands, without avail. Dillandau rubbed his aching back and stitched stomach. A bad tempered grimace was plastered across his face.  
  
Siren gave a quick stomp to the man who held her foot. He merely stumbled a bit and winced, then tightened his grip on her arms. Dillandau watched it with an unreadable look on his face, and the sound of a loud pop reached his ears as it issued from the two. Pain was what drove Siren's insanity away, the redness that had clouded her eyes now replaced with a threatening blackness. A strangling pain issued through her left arm and only increased as the man increased the power of his hold. Finally she let out a cry of pain, her complexion paling fuller.  
  
Dillandau had watched this all with an ethereal and unemotional spirit. After all, she had hit him, tried to kill him... And yet, when her cry rang out, the hatred that had built for her erupted from him on a different person entirely. His fist connected with the soldier's jaw, the one which held Siren, that is. The other two soldiers just stood there, knowing they were unable to interfere. The man stumbled back and released the small wisp of a girl. She fell forward and Dillandau caught her by the shoulders. He could tell that her left shoulder was dislocated, which would explain the loud popping sound of earlier. He was taken unaware as she began to wail like a small child, her entire body trembling. He looked down into her face and saw that innocent and lost look of before return. Dillandau knew how to care for a fallen soldier, but not a child. Her tears were not for the pain, but for some sort of scene she was living out in her head. Dillandau scowled. Her insanity was almost tangible at the moment, and it put him in the worst of tempers.  
  
"Snap out of it!" He screamed suddenly and his hand flashed forward once more, connecting with her right cheek. The sobs were choked out almost immediately and she lifted her eyes up to him, tears fresh on her cheeks, but no longer in her eyes. He saw his garnet eyes reflected in her purple ones, but still she held insanity within them. Laughter flowed from her lips, no, cackling, and Dillandau was somewhat at ease with this new side, for he himself held this quality of insane cackling from time to time. She continued to laugh, laugh at the murderer which held her and he felt it build up in himself as well. A wry grin crossed his face and his laughter met hers. The soldiers that surrounded the two just blinked once, twice, before turning away, ready to inform the others in the outpost to contact the Vione. After all, everyone knew the general of the Dragon Slayers was quite literally mad.  
  



	7. Chapter Six: Playing the Prisoner

Playing God  
By GoldenEagle  
  
Author's Note: Yes, this is an extremely short chapter. Well, atleast to me, since my Leviathan continuation is like six pages for one chapter. Ah, well. Anywho, read and review!  
  
Chapter Six: Playing the Prisoner  
  
Dillandau sat, bored, upon the Vione. He didn't know what held him in this place when he had much bigger things to worry about. And yet still he sat, in this insanely uncomfortable chair, outside the girl's room. He sighed, annoyed, utterly bored, and still his legs wouldn't bring him away. He felt nothing for her, and yet he could not move. Damn the bitch! He growled and stood, ignoring his knees as they tried to hold him down. He had better things to do than to wait for some stupid female. And so he left, leaving the girl in the care of the sorcerers of Zaibach.  
  
*****************  
  
Four darkly hooded figures huddled over the obviously insane girl. Her eyes stared up at the ceiling, seemingly unseeing, the pupils dilated. Her breathing came full and slow and she didn't move. Not once. "A breakdown?" Questioned one of the figures.  
  
"Perhaps. Or a relapse into her old self. Dillandau used to go into such fits, flickering back into his previous form."  
  
"Yes, but Dillandau is truly two different people. This girl is not." Commented the third.  
  
"Perhaps she is. Perhaps there is the piece she is now and the piece she once was. She seems to flicker between the two." Muttered the second.  
  
"Perhaps we could... improve her? Improve her as we improved the boy?" Mused the first, licking his lips in hinted anticipation of what he could make this strange girl to be.  
  
"No." The fourth figure spoke deeply for the first time, his eyes opening. It was obvious by the ways the others lowered their heads to look at him that he carried an air of respect. He lifted his hands from her temples, where he had moments before probed her mind. "She is perfect as she is. A seductress, a murderer, she is perfect. A natural female version of the boy. True, she has an underlying innocence that may prove quarrelsome in the future, but it is something that can be overlooked. No improvements need be made. We cannot risk losing such a perfect specimen." The first sorcerer scowled a bit while the others nodded in agreement. His hopes were battered. There would be no playing with this one...  
  
"What about Dillandau?" Asked the third. "I heard he protected her, though she tried to kill him. What if the two grow a little too close-"  
  
"No." Again hissed the fourth. "He sees himself in her and nothing more. Remember, brothers, that when we created him, when we made him fully ours, there was no room for excess emotion, other than the hate we had taught him. Dillandau Albatou is not capable of love."  
  
************  
  
Darkness. Yes, it was so dark. And the smell of so many forced together. A date set, they had said. They would fry the damn bitch, no matter how young she may be. They said it right in front of her. She sat in the shadows, crying, sobbing. Betrayal. Her own mother left her there, never came to visit... Her little sister... Terrified of her... And Jason, that bastard, lied. Had testified that she had come in and purposely planned out the man's murder. But worst of all, they left her in this darkness, where the only light was the sparks that flew from the contraption that would take her life.  
  
She looked on it in third person, watching as she saw her form huddled in the shadows, crying. She remembered the whispers now. Yes, the whispers of the other cell mates, only shadows here. "Murderess... She laughed over the body..." And then, close to her ear, their advice. "Take that strength, child. Bend it, brake it to your will. When you are afraid, when the darkness consumes you, the rats crawl over you in the dead of the night, use that strength. And when you walk to your execution, hold your head high. Laugh at the thought of your own blood as you laughed at the blood of your victim. Prison is a place that you can either choose to die in or choose to conquer in. You will die, girl, but that murderer within you... She will conquer." The small form had listened, and took their advice in the blind stupidity that one might invite a vampire or demon into their house. And so Siren was born fully, invited into the mind of the child, and so she was here, now.  
  
She remembered walking to her execution, remembered the cheers as she held her head high, gave a maniacal grin to those who screamed in ecstasy at the thought of her death, wishing it were their own. The cheers grew louder, louder, and then the world had spun around her, the earth falling beneath her. Rock, concrete crashing over her head. She was falling to hell, falling to hell... And she had hit cold, damp ground. No, no she hadn't fallen to hell. She had fallen to freedom...  
  
*******************  
  
The room was empty and dark. Siren woke from her trance with the smallest of movements, the blinking of her previously opened eyes. She opened them slowly, closed them, before bolting up, her eyes wide and unseeing in panic. Darkness. She was shrouded in darkness! Her fear grew as she felt the emptiness of the room. Her bare feet hit the cold metal floor and she recoiled back onto the bed, her eyes wide in panic. Was she back in that dark cell? No. She would rather die than be a prisoner once more.  
  
She jerked when the door to the room opened and light came in. There was the silhouette of a boy in the doorway and she squinted her eyes, trying to see past the shadows, try to see his face. He moved and she let out a sharp hiss when the lights to the room flared on brightly, upsetting her momentarily nocturnal sight. "Oh. I, uh, I thought you were still asleep." She looked up at the unfamiliar voice.  
  
It was a boy. No, not a boy. He looked Dilandau's age, which was surely only a year or two younger than herself. He had the hair of a sheep, she thought with a wistful smirk, her terror of a few minutes before forgotten. He wore bulky armor, a strange look for his childish form. Yes, he could almost look innocent. Almost, she noted. His eyes were a little bit too sharp, his hand always a little too close to the hilt of his sword, his face a little too stern... All signs that he was more than he appeared. She sighed, waiting for him to go on. A long moment passed before he seemed to regather himself to speak. "Lord Dilandau sent me to check on your condition. He told me that if you were awake you were to join him for supper." This got a raised eyebrow from Siren and she stared at him for a moment before glancing down at her clothing. It was the clothing she had been in before, smeared with mud and blood.  
  
"And what am I to wear?" She asked smugly, daring the boy to answer.  
  
"Lord Dilandau told me to bring you a Dragon Slayer's uniform, and you are to wear that." He stated plainly and just as smubly. She again looked at him as if he were odd before nodding and standing, walking across the room to take the uniform from his hands. It wasn't just a uniform, she noted, but armor as well. It was heavy in her hands and she growled in annoyance. This was obviously some sort of test or prank from the sniveling boy. Testing her endurance? Or perhaps he just wanted to laugh at her when she stumbled in, the weight on her shoulders and chest making her tilt forward. Ah, well, she would take the challenge. Dinner, it was? So be it.  
  
  
  



	8. Chapter Seven: Playing the Dinner Guest

**Playing God **

By GoldenEagle 

Author's Note:I know what you're thinking! You're wondering what the hell took me so long to get out this next chapter. Actually, I was considering not working on this fic anymore because of permanent writer's block, but I got so many reviews and people asking about the story that I decided to trudge on. But, in finishing this chapter (which I literally started a few months ago), I found that the writer's block I had wasn't as bad as I had thought and have decided to continue! Yay! So, please read and review! They're really the only thing that got this chapter out! 

**Chapter Seven: Playing the Dinner Guest**

Dilandau Albatou sat, his gaze distant, his form motionless. He sat in the empty room, silence encasing him, for a long while. The vacant look in his eyes was strangely unnerving, a look that couldn't possibly be all the way sane, but at the same time, the boy carried the look so well. The silence was broken by the noise of shuffling feet and an electric door sliding open. The emptiness on Dilandau's face was gone instantly, his head snapping up like a hawks, his gaze focusing in. A lithe smile graced his face as he watched her stumble in, trying to hold her head and shoulders high, but only succeeding in the movements with a machine like jerkiness. 

"Ah, I see you've joined me at last, hmm?" The mocking tone in his voice was to be expected, but the girl's reaction was not. She looked up at him, only a few steps from the door she had entered in, the Dragon Slayer right behind her. She threw Dilandau a look, a look that said she wasn't going to take his shit, and turned on her heel, almost too gracefully for the weight of the armor on her shoulders, and stalked out of the room before either boy could say a word. Dilandau's smirk faltered, and his mouth suddenly went agape before he could pull himself together. "What... Bring her back here! Right now!" He yelped out, his voice high in anger. 

"Yes, Lord Dilandau!" The boy said without hesitation before giving a quick bow and jogging after her. The Dragon Slayer general could hear some muffled words, a scuffle, and then a loud, _male_ exclamation and curse. Then the blue clothed warrior had returned, Siren's arms crossed across her chest, her lips out in a pout, and the Dragon Slayer behind her supporting four red gashes across his left cheek. Looking at those red, agitated scratches that the girl had delivered made the scar on Dilandau's cheek tingle to life, recalling a memory that only built up onto his already unstable mental status. 

"You may go, but clean your face up once you get to your room." The soldier twitched involuntarily as the stinging of the marks on his face raged up a bit more, but managed a salute and quickly strode out the door, leaving the small, blonde teen standing before a fuming warrior. She had now taken on that vulnerable look she had on the side of the road, the one that made her look like a small, quivering child. But she wasn't quivering, and her eyes, though wide and glossy as she pouted, held no fear. Her shoulders were still slumped from the weight of the armor when Dilandau finally managed to speak, his voice deathly calm. 

"So." It was all he could manage, his voice shaking violently with rage at the one syllable. "I see you didn't... really... want-" 

His voice died away in his throat as he watched her in a distracted manner. She wasn't even looking at him, or even listening, by the looks of it. Instead she picked at the nails on her right hand lazily. The nails were tainted a dark crimson and dark, small splotches colored the skin on her fair hand. She continued to pick the skin of the Dragon Slayer she had just scratched out from beneath them, seemingly unaware of the murderer standing before her, ready to pounce. After a moment of Dilandau clenching and unclenching his hands, Siren looked up from her finished job, her big lavender eyes blinking up at him innocently. "You were saying?" 

"I'd like you to not wound my men anymore." He said, a part of his mind questioning why the hell he hadn't already attacked the girl by now. He unconsciously rubbed his fingers in hard, simple strokes down his right cheek, over the scar. He aggravated the skin there, his pale complexion pinkening and then reddening as he paced. Siren cocked her head to the side, like a curious bird of some, sort before pushing forward. 

It was only because of Dilandau's surprise at her swift movements that she was capable of drawing as close as she did. He looked down at her, startled, as she moved toward him, the armor that covered her chest brushing lightly against his torso. She reached up and, surprisingly enough, pushed his hand away from the scar lightly before placing two tentative pads of her fingers against the old wound. She had removed the glove on her left hand, which was now prodding at the white streak, before coming to him, and it fell to the floor with not so much as a noise. A pain originated from her touch, permeating his scar, before it filled his cheek and the bolted downward, to his chest. There it engulfed his heart, a painful feeling, or possibly emotion. That one strong muscle increased its beat with the pain in what could almost be explained as ecstasy. The pain was a different pain than any he had really ever felt, but closely resembled the pain one might feel from healing, a deep, hopeful pain as a burden is lifted. Yes, it was an ecstasy, a pleasure. A shudder ran through him, and his eyelids dropped. He pushed his head to the side by instinct, his cheek now resting in her palm, his lips brushing lightly against her wrist. Another shiver, and then the pain dulled slightly, starting to leave behind this new, totally unfamiliar feeling. It was an intense feeling that made him tremble, made his entire body want to cave in on itself as it reached for that ecstasy inside him- 

_Shit!_

He pulled away, his eyes snapping open. For a moment, he met Siren's own gaze. A gaze that looked slightly dazed. He did the only thing he knew to do at the moment. He threw his fist at her, but she reacted quicker than she had in the cart on the way there. She ducked nimbly, avoiding his harsh hit, and laughed even as she stumbled forward slightly from the weight on her shoulders. She just stood there, hunched over, her hands on her knees, and laughed. Yet it seemed to be a slightly strained laugh, a nervous sound. Then she spoke, and only a large ego and an even larger confidence sprang from her mouth. "What is it with you and that scar, Dilandau? You hold it and stroke it like a lover then hide and hiss like a snake when someone seems to stare at it too long. What is it to you that you handle it with such obsession?" 

"It's an imperfection, an impurity, a stain." He snapped out without thinking, confusion from his earlier reaction to her touch adding to his rage. "That damn dragon marred my beauti-" 

_"Marred?_" She echoed, her head snapping up, her face now flickering with a mixture of disbelief and mild amusement. "_Marred_?" She repeated. "Have you lost your mind? You're a warrior! Scars and broken bones are a sign of one's strength. A battle award, of sorts. It only adds to you, Dil. It only adds." 

"Don't call me Dil." He murmured, his voice not as deadly as before, his eyes quieting a bit. 

A smirk grew on Siren's full lips, her eyes lighting up. "I hear your men whisper about you and this 'dragon'. They say he is a king, and that you lust for him. That you call out his name in your sleep-" 

This time, Dilandau's fist _did_ connect with her face. It connected hard to her jaw and she was launched to the side. Her arms tangled in the armor she wore and she hit the ground on her side, skidding slightly into one of the chairs. The warrior watched her with a deeply satisfied look as she stiffly gathered herself up. Her hair feel into her face from his vantage point, but he could see a string of blood reaching from her face to the floor and collecting there in a small puddle. His slightly smug smile was replaced with a frown when she looked up at him, her eyes alight with some sick pleasure. She pulled herself to her feet, and he could now see he had busted one of her lips and torn at her gums a bit. Despite the blood that filled her mouth and covered one side of her face, she still held a strange, deadly beauty and air about her that made Dilandau's frown deepen. His disappointed look grew as she threw him an odd smile before swallowing the blood the filled her mouth and overflowed from her lips. "Blood." She murmured, licking her lips. "Blood is a sign of death, Dilandau. I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that you knew the love for it, the lust I have for it. But, truly, what is it you lust for? Do you lust for blood? For death perhaps? Or maybe more..." She stepped forward, her hips swaying a bit, blood still running in rivers from her mouth. Dilandau began to feel that tremor in him again as she stepped closer, but it was a more intense impulse. "Or do you lust for m-" 

The door sprung open at that moment and the Dragon Slayer found himself jumping backwards from the girl, his mind ablaze by the insanity she had somehow spread through his veins. He looked up to the open door, relieved, but refusing to show so. One of his most elite men stood there, slightly bent over. Gatti looked up, his eyes barely wide in fear and anticipation. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Lord Dilandau, but Escaflowne and the his wielder have been sighted along with the girl from the Mystic Moon." 

A huge grin spread across the teen's once distraught face, and as he turned to leave, he glanced over his shoulder at the seemingly disinterested Siren behind him, again picking at her nails, letting the blood run down her swelling jaw. "It's him I lust for." He said with a huge, face cracking smirk. She glanced up at him, slightly confused and curious. "I lust for that dragon's blood, and by the gods, I'll have it on my hands today."


	9. Chapter Eight: Playing at the Sleep Over

**Playing God **

By GoldenEagle 

Author's Note: Again I'm a little late at this section. But I do hope you enjoy! -GE 

**Chapter Eight: Playing at the Sleep over **

By the time Dilandau Albatou had returned from his unsuccessful attempt at killing the king of Fanalia, he was more than a little unhappy. He was enraged, in fact. The only real thing good that had happened was the damn Schezar had taken a blow that would hopefully kill the bastard. His men had come back, received any blows he had decided to throw at them loyally, and then returned to their own rooms for the night. Dilandau had no yearning to see Siren for the night, since she grated on his nerves so much. So he returned to his room, his fists clenched, his entire body aching from stress. He was surprised to find that the lights to his room were on when he entered and even more startled to find some sort of creature jumping onto him and running up and down his body. He struggled to grab the creature as it jumped to his head then disappeared down the front of the breastplate of his armor, and then went back to his head, where it chose a different course. It chattered in his ear as it ran about and the general tried to grab hold of it unsuccessfully. "Get the hell off me, you little beast!" He yelled out. Was he losing his edge? Could he not even destroy a small rodent? 

With one final burst of effort, Dilandau threw the demon creature from his back. It skidded on the slick, cold metal floor, screeching the entire way. A string of curses left his mouth and he slammed his fist into the wall, only to add to his rage as sudden pain echoed up through his knuckles. Damn that Schezar, damn the evil rodents, but most of all, damn that Van Fanel! 

"You really should watch your temper, Dilandau." His head snapped up at the slightly slurred words. How had he not noticed anyone in his room? His hand went to the hilt of his sword before a slight movement in the deep shadows of the doorway to his private restroom stopped him. "George was just trying to get to know you." 

"Siren, what the hell are you doing in my room?" He half growled and half hissed as he made out the petite form that was slowly moving into the light, into view, that vile monkey on her shoulder, bobbing up and down curiously. 

"I thought we could talk." She said with a vocal shrug. Dilandau took a step forward, his throbbing hand curled tightly into a fist. He opened his mouth to say something soon forgotten, raised his right hand as if to hit her... 

And she stepped into the light. 

He froze. The entire left side of her face was three times the size it should have been, a deep purple. Her jaw was swollen, making it hard for her to form words. Her left eyelid drooped down just a bit, her lip had stitches in it. Her face was a bruise on the left side. His words evaded him. None of his Dragon Slayers had ever looked as battered as this after he had physically reprimanded them. 

"Shocked, Dilandau? Don't be. It's just a bruise, though I think, by the look on your face, you really didn't know you had hit me so hard." She muttered, her words slurred together because of the swelling, as she saw the expression on his face. She started into a smirk, but that soon turned to a sharp grimace, and then she forced her face to fall calmly barren. Her jaw was clenched, though, and there was the slightest twitch in her right cheek. 

"What do you want?" He asked bluntly as he turned from her. Despite his pride and obvious strength, his torso seemed to slump forward a little bit from exhaustion. He really had no time to deal with her right now... He took off the top most of his armor and suit, leaving him in the mucky leather pants and a damp tank top. He threw himself onto his large bed, no longer caring if the Mystic Moon freak saw his obvious intentions for rest or not. In fact, it should be a hint to her that she needed to leave. Soon. 

"I thought maybe we could make a deal." 

"A deal? What kind of deal?" Dilandau asked, pushing himself onto his elbows as he focused in on her curiously. 

She seemed to fidget uncomfortably as she scratched the back of her head. He imagined her expression would have been that of a sheepish smile if it had not been for the state her face was in. "It's kind of embarrassing... But I grew up in a big home and had to share a room with two of my siblings. Even when I went to... prison," (she seemed to choke slightly on this word, as if it were poisoned), "I wasn't entirely alone. The room you've put me in is rather... empty, I guess, and some of the common guards told me that the electricity to the dorms are shut off to preserve energy at night-" 

Dilandau's sudden laugh interrupted her. He had momentarily forgotten his earlier fight with Van and the Heavenly Knight in this unexpected form of entertainment. "Are you telling me, oh great murderess, that you are afraid of the dark? Afraid of being along?" With that he laughed again. She arched an eyebrow in annoyance, then hissed in a breath with a grimace and let her face settle back down. 

"Look, all I'm saying is that I can't sleep in that room, and a sleepy me is a dangerous me. I don't know any of the others, so I was wondering-" 

"Oh, no." He interrupted her again. "You can go sleep anywhere you choose, but not here._ No_." 

She would have jutted out her bottom lip to pout if it weren't for the bruising. "But Dilandau, I have a generous offer, and you're the only one I know. I offer my services for just a few hours of sleep in here. I could lay out on the floor..." 

Dilandau flopped back down onto the large mattress. "No. I don't want your _services_, whatever those may be. You can go sleep with Nariya and Eriya, for all I care." 

There was a long pause and then he felt a part of the mattress next to him dip down with extra weight. He had no time to react before a body was pressed down into the small of his back. _Is she_ sitting _on me?_ And even before he could object, she spoke. "Nariya and Eriya? You don't mean those freaky cat things?" She said in disgust. _So she's been out exploring since I've been gone..._ Dilandau thought in mild amusement. "They're disgusting. Quit squirming, Dil. You're too tense." 

He felt her hands slide beneath his tank top and begin to press into his back. He tensed a moment before he relaxed. This felt quite nice. She kneaded the muscled in his back with a certain expertise. Pains, aches, and stiffness that he had forgotten had once not been there subsided beneath her touch and he let out a low growl of pleasure as her fingers and palms continued their work. Heat spread through him, like a fire, from her touch, calming him. A small tremor caught him by surprise, a tremor that was too familiar from the dining hall scene, rippling through him, making him shutter. His eyes snapped open and he went rigid. "Why so stiff all the sudden? It's not healthy to be so wound up." Siren said quietly. She leaned over him and he could feel her body pressed tightly against the curves of his back. Another quake, another tremor... _Gods damn it, quit it!_ He yelled at himself mentally. "This is what I could do for you, every night. You'll fight better, have more concentration... All it costs is a small square of space on the floor in your room." She whispered, her breath in his ear, her lips brushing against the skin on his neck, her hair tickling his cheeks. Her arms snaked around his torso gently so she could conform even more to his shape. This didn't help calm Dilandau's momentary bursts of quaking. 

"And what if I demand you come? My order is all powerful on this ship." He hissed out, not moving his head, his voice somehow lost in the shivers that sprang up his spine. His pupils were turned to the corner of his eyes and he could just make her out above him. 

"Then I'd find ways to hurt you. I know quite a few ways to give you some pinched nerves. Come on, _Lord_ Dilandau." She had regained some control of the pain originating from her face, and her lip jutted out slightly, her words dipping low into a pout. Dilandau sighed. 

"We'll try it out." He said wearily. He felt her allow a slight smile against the sensitive skin of his neck. She then pulled herself up and resumed her work on his back, his arms, and later his chest. Her hands cramped as she continued to massage the stress from him. 

He did not tell her to leave after she had finished because he had fallen asleep beneath her fingers. So she spent her first night of many on the floor, George curled against her side. And the next morning Dilandau Albatou woke a little more at ease, and his Slayers wondered at his lighter mood. He trained better that day, the stiffness melted away by the heat of her touch. She returned the next night, with blankets and a pillow from her original room, and set about her work of massaging him down, even after he fell asleep, until she was done, a slight sweat at her brow from effort. She then lay herself on the floor, her last dim thoughts in the pitch darkness of the room was how much better she liked Dilandau, in his calm state, when he lay asleep, and not when he was awake. 

**Author's Note:** If any of you didn't get that, Siren's basically become Dilly's little massage therapist in return of some shared rooming (cause she's afraid of loneliness and darkness... awww...) And so there it is! Please review!


	10. Playing With Words

**Playing God **

By GoldenEagle 

Author's Note: Hehe, finally another installment. I think the characters are a little out of wack here, but my excuse is that I haven't written them in a while. Plus, I think the next chapter will show why a bit of why their (or atleast Siren's) strong "beliefs" and "values" seem to be decaying. Well, I'm talking too much. I'll try to update more on Playing God, since I did finally see the series. And I have to say, I think things from here are out are going to be a bit more angsty, so there's the warning. Thanks a million for everyone's support! 

**Chapter Nine: Playing With Words**

"Ow! Hey, is that _fair_?" Siren was whining again, holding her wrist dramatically, the practice sword on the ground by her feet. She was pouting and Dalet had almost had enough of her for one day. 

"Look, I'm taking blocks out of my free time to help you learn to use a blade. So, please, pick up the sword and let's get on with it or just let me be." Dalet growled, pushing his hair out of his face in exasperation. This only seemed to deepen the pout on her face, but in the end, she picked the sword back up and took up one of the positions he had already taught her. He was just rocking back on his left foot to charge when he found that she had already taken the offensive and was darting towards him. His left foot went down as he braced himself instinctively for her blow. It was aimed at his head (which he had found in the past was her favorite target) and he easily blocked it. The rebound of the clash sent the sword out of Siren's hands and her stumbling back, grumbling about how unfair Dalet was somehow being. He sighed but froze almost immediately as he heard someone cackling behind him. He turned to see who it was (though he already had a good idea) and was met with a fierce slap from his commander. 

"I thought it was your day to sweep the dorms, Dalet." Dilandau said in explanation for the now red coloration of Dalet's cheek. 

"Yes, Dilandau-sama." Dalet muttered, throwing a murderous glance at the still pouting Siren before making his exit. 

"_Yes_, Dilandau-sama. Oh, Dilandau-_sama_, how pretty you look this morning. Dilandau-sama, oh, my lovely general-" 

The only witty reply Dilandau made to interrupt her was a basic, "Shut up." The two had apparently been involved in an argument recently. Most likely, it had been based off of some problem with the wonderful "George". Either Dilandau had tried to kill the primate again, or it had decided to chew up some more of his boxers, one of the two (though it could be both, since the second usually led to the first). But now it was about the hideous crick in his neck that Siren had decided to give him when she was feeling rather vengeful one evening. So he stood there, his arms crossed across his chest and his head stiffly hovering over his left shoulder. It gave him a rather comical look, especially when he tried to turn to look at things, since he couldn't quite move his neck. 

"And, what do _you _want?" Came Siren's wistful voice as she strutted past him, her swollen wrists now placed on jutting hips. 

Dilandau sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose carefully. "I... want you to come to dinner with me." He said plainly. 

She looked up, a bit surprised, her golden hair flickering to silver in the artificial light of the room. She frowned. "What? Why?" 

His lips turned downward as well. "It doesn't matter. We need to talk, that's all. So, are you coming?" 

"Are you ordering me to?" 

A pause. "Hmm... Yes." 

A deep growl seemed to vibrate from the back of her throat. "Fine." 

************ 

And so here the two happy teens were. 

Dilandau was trying to drink his glass of wine without becoming too frustrated or flustered. Apparently, the "crick" Siren had forced onto his neck was worse than he had first thought (or perhaps getting worse) and he could hardly take down the drink without spilling it, since he couldn't tilt his head back. Siren, on the other hand, was strangely quiet, although a few hummed notes of some song she must have had caught in her head escaped her lips every few minutes. It was when the silence had become too heavy that Dilandau spoke. 

"I've decided to have you transferred away from the Vione." It was said quite plainly and calmly, which made Siren's comprehension of his implications come very slowly. But when she did realize what he was saying, she nearly choked on her own breath. 

"What?! Hey, no way. I am _so_ not having you ship me off. Where? And why?" 

"You're being sent off to some Zaibach suburb. I didn't take much interest in the 'where's." Liar. He had personally sent her to a city called Bathshebe, a place he thought she would survive best in. "As for why? You're a nuisance. You have no training in any type of combat. This is a military base and a vessel of war, after all. Plus, you distract my men-" 

"I distract _you_." She growled. Her voice held none of its usual seductive teasing. Instead, she sounded bitter and enraged and sort of choked. "I distract you," she repeated. "And you don't want me to. You want me to disappear until you have your fun with this war. And then what, Dilandau? Do you come to me? Do you say your apologies, pretend like we're both _normal_? Or do you just disappear? What's your purpose after this war?" 

He stood stiffly at this, his own rage bubbling up. "I'm perfect, don't you see that? After this war I'll be a hero. There are lands which no person on this continent has ever laid a foot on, and after this war we'll conquer those lands, too. And why would I come after you? We're not friends. You hate me, I hate you. It's simple." His jaw was tense and he was surprised to find himself brimming with anticipation and fear. Fear, of all things. Fear of what? 

_Fear that she won't object. Fear that she really does hate me._

"Liar." A whisper. Siren's eyes were strangely reflective in the light, her voice unusually shaky. She bowed her head before standing abruptly and pushing the dishes of uneaten food to the floor. Glass shattered and skidded across the smooth surface, soup and rice and some strange Gaean food not found on earth now scattered close to her chair. After a few moments of her standing there, her fists clenched and shaking, she seemed to calm, her body relaxing. She looked up slowly at a transfixed Dilandau, his head tilted as he watched her with a puzzled expression. "I'm sick, and I'm tired. I don't know if I can take this." She started to leave. 

"Siren..." 

She looked up expectantly at him, her gaze cast in a dark hope, her purple eyes metallic with unshed tears. "Yes?" Her voice was hoarse and low, scratchy. 

Dilandau gaped a bit, his mouth opening and closing like a fish's, before he straightened and spoke. "Do take this crick out of my neck before you pack. The transport ships are on their way, and I do need my flexibility." A pause. 

Siren's face contorted with rage, her beauty replaced by raw emotion. She walked briskly to him before stepping behind him. With a few harsh, painful movements, Dilandau relaxed out of his earlier pangs. The crick was gone. He didn't turn as he heard her boots (he had acquired some military issued clothing for her) stomp angrily towards the door, but he half turned as he heard her heated growl from across the room. 

"Fuck you, Dilandau. I really _do_ hate you." 

The pang in his chest after she left somehow seemed much worst than that which had been in his neck. 

************* 

She was crying. It was really hard for her to remember when the tears had started, but they didn't seem as sorrowful as they seemed angry. She wiped viciously at them as she packed, George sitting on her shoulder. And what did she really have to pack? A few pairs of clothes lent to her by the Zaibach military along with the one pair of blood stained clothes she had first came to Gaea wearing. The dark crimson blotches stopped her hurried and bitter movements. She ran her hands almost lovingly down the pants, across the stains. She felt a lump on the side of the jeans and reached into the left pocket. She ended up pulling out a tube of black lipstick, some thread, and a needle. She stared at them a while before her muscles slowly began to tense and in an explosion of violent rage, she threw them against the other side of Dilandau's wall with a cry. They hit loudly against the metal before falling to the ground. The thread and lipstick rocked a bit before stilling. 

She was trembling, stayed trembling for a few minutes before she heard rapid footsteps down the corridor outside the door. Someone was running, sprinting down the hall. She heard the rhythm slow outside Dilandau's door. "He's not here, damn it! Go away!" She screamed out, more tears squeezing from her lavender eyes. She wiped them away quickly, almost in a panic, as she heard the door sliding open. She turned quickly in her sitting position in hopes of hiding earlier signs of crying. There was no movement from the doorway as light spilled into the dark room. George gave out an angry warning cry before jumping from her shoulder to hide under the bed and Siren knew immediately who was at the door. "Go away, Dilandau." 

"I thought you were afraid of the dark." His voice was a strange mix of mockery and some unidentifiable softness. Siren didn't answer. 

Dilandau sighed before walking slowly across the room and sitting down by her, each facing opposite directions. He watched as the door to his room closed automatically, shrouding them in black. He blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust, hoping Siren wouldn't go psychotic and try to kill him. He felt her shift next to him and turned his head in her direction. He could only see a bit of a silhouette of her, the silver in her hair and eyes reflecting the tiny rays of light that seeped from under the door as she looked at him. "You know, I don't really hate you." Siren said quite suddenly and to the point. 

"I don't really hate you, either." Dilandau answered as he studied the reflection in her eyes, those shimmering shards of glass in her gaze. He felt dazed, as if in the throws of some powerful spell. He jerked quite suddenly when he saw his own reflection start to form in her eyes, a smaller version of him in all his silver haired, red eyed glory. 

"If I kissed you, what would you do? I mean, seriously." Siren did sound rather serious, which startled Dilandau even more. His gaze narrowed and he felt a tight smirk pulling at his lips. 

"I'd probably kiss you back." He muttered, feeling rather absurd. He felt like bursting into wonderful peals of giggles. He restrained himself, though. 

"Good." 

Fingertips on his face, burning him, dizzying him. Flames, she was a flame. Controlling that fire within him, pulling her to him, the dragon, the- 

_God._

"The DragonSlayers are to report to the control deck _immediately_." The Strategos' cold voice broke through the heat of her, his tone speaking of something that broke any trance off of Dilandau. It spoke of battle. 

"Siren-" 

"I know." She growled, pulling away, even farther away than she had been before, her back to him. "Go, Dilandau. Fight your battles. It is what you are, isn't it?" "We're the same, though, aren't we? I knew it from the beginning." He was standing, his grin already telling of his pre-battle rush. 

"I'm so tired." She muttered quietly. "I'm so tired of it all." 

"That's why I'm sending you to Bathshebe." 

She looked up at him as he opened the door, his lean form silhouetted against the light from the hall. "I'm not going, but you already knew that, didn't you?" 

He paused, looking back at her. "That's why I came to make you go. But..." 

"You're going to let me stay." Her voice was hopeful and knowing at the same time. She sat up, the bed creaking, making George scatter out from underneath it and out the door. Dilandau took a step back from the fleeing creature and his grin widened, knowing Siren would have to spend quite a bit of time searching for the primate. He felt giddy, despite the fact that Siren looked downright miserable. 

_So, she is staying?_

"Yes." He answered them both. To make his point, he stepped forward and planted a kiss at the corner of her mouth before he left, leaving her standing there, quite bewildered.


End file.
